27. Evan

27

Evan

I couldn’t seem to stop crying over the contents of the trunk. There was a little white dress in pristine condition, wrapped in tissue paper, that was clearly the one my grandmother had been dressed in when the picture was taken. The words Baptism dress were written on the tissue paper, most likely in my great-grandmother’s handwriting.

There were pictures of Inez, with whom I assumed must’ve been her parents and siblings. There was no writing on those, so I wasn’t certain. I didn’t even know she’d had siblings.

There were also pictures of the boy I’d seen in my vision. Little Andre , one had written on the back. Inez had been in that picture as well.

There were old books that’d clearly been read repeatedly—Mark Twain’s Adventures of Huckleberry Finn , two books by Jane Austen, and Beatrix Potter’s The Tale of Peter Rabbit . I assumed she’d read those to little Andre, unless he’d been too old when she’d become his nanny.

No, I remembered the first dream, he was only five or six years old then. So, he would’ve been the perfect age for the books. Maybe she’d read them to my grandma too.

There were other things in the trunk, little mementos for which I’d likely never know their true significance. A very worn cameo brooch, a monogrammed handkerchief. Why hadn’t my grandmother taken them when she’d left? I had so many questions. Questions with no one left to answer them, no one alive at least.

I put everything back in the trunk just as I’d found it and closed the lid. I’d have to figure out how best to preserve everything. Not counting the estate, which I didn’t, the little trunk of keepsakes represented all I had left of my family.

I’d already moved in with Andy when my grandmother passed away only months after Dad had died so unexpectedly. By the time I got to their rented trailer house, the owner had already moved all their stuff out and either taken or tossed it, even though I hadn’t ended their lease yet. I literally had nothing of theirs, other than the old Cavs ball cap Dad had given me. It remained my most cherished possession.

Only now, I had more things to cherish. These precious things from so long ago. It felt like I’d struck the gold that’d made this area famous once upon a time.

As I sat on the reassembled bed, I looked around and was amazed at what a little paint and elbow grease could do. The renovated suite on the third floor of the manor was nice, but it didn’t compare to my new space in the cottage. This room felt like home—a place where I could be myself. The bed was old but sturdy. Luckily, the mattress was newer. I’d have freaked out sleeping on an ancient one. I’d seen too many YouTube videos of bedbugs to be okay with that.

When the paint dried, I’d push the bed up against the window and add those sheers I’d talked to Cary about. The room would be sparse until I had time to decorate, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t be beautiful… it would be.

My family had taught me how to do that on a tiny budget. You didn’t need much money to make things feel like home. With my shabby dresser and creaky rocking chair that might have once belonged to Inez or Andre–my family–I already felt comfortable and cozy in my third-floor sanctuary.